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Fitzroy’s dorm room smelled like seawater, and drying grass. It was an odd combination, but they mixed well. The herbal scent of henna complimented the salty sweetness of the ocean, which seemed to follow Agro everywhere he went. Anyone who walked into their dorm got the surreal feeling of lighting incense by the sea, as Rainer had so eloquently put when she’d first come to visit. And alongside that, the room was never quiet. Argo had a noise machine perpetually set to “Peaceful Ocean Waves,” and Fitzroy’s window was always open, letting in the sounds of New Hope’s busy roadways rumble through the air. It was a peaceful existence for the both of them.
Or it would be, if Fitzroy could ever catch a break. Recently he’d been at Springs Eternal until midnight, every night, for the past week. Which made sense considering the change in weather; the cold season brought frosty winds, snowy clouds, and seasonal depression. But even baristas had homework to do, especially if one was a business major. Honestly, Fitzroy loved working for Dakota, but every once in a while he wished they’d give him a break. With Buckminster and Moon home for the holidays, he was left with only Dakota, his manager, Rhodes, a great friend but mediocre coworker, and himself to take on the holiday rush. His late night homecomings must be hell on his roommate.
Jingling bells woke Fitzroy from where he was dozing at the register, around eleven PM one night. He yawned, fixed his glasses, and did his best to stand at attention.
“Welcome in, how may I– oh, thank god it’s just you.”
“What do’ya mean ‘just me,’” said Argo, kicking snow from his boots and onto the welcome mat. He laughed, breath puffing from the still-open door, and it sounded like all the relieving things in this world; water on a hot day, a shower after a workout, coming home from a long, long shift. Fitzroy stood taller, and rolled his shoulders.
“I mean someone with an easy order, who won’t complain about how my mehndi is ‘unsanitary’, and will give me a decent tip,” he said, stepping to the Dark Roast coffee pot on slow, tired feet. Argo stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder from across the bar.
“Fitz, I’m not here for coffee.”
“You’re not switching up your order on me, are you?”
“Nah, not today.”
“Then what’s up?” Fitzroy leaned against the counter, eyelids fighting off droopiness, in lieu of looking at Argo’s roguishly handsome face. Even when he was delirious from sleep deprivation, Fitzroy still thought Argo was beautiful; his dyed blue hair had melting snowflakes haloing the crown of his head, his green eyes looked dark and warm in the low light.
“I’m taking you home, ya’ overworked idiot.”
“What? Argo, there’s still an hour left in my shift.”
“I ain’t taking ‘no’ as an answer. You need to sleep.”
“But-”
“Rhodes can close up. I’m sure your manager will understand.” Argo lifted the swing door that separated the kitchens from the rest of the cafe, and flourished his hand like an escort. Fitzroy did not move. He still had work to do, and as adorably convincing as Argo could be, he wasn’t going to risk his job for an extra hour of sleep. “Well, c’mon.”
“Argo, I can’t. It’s just an hour, I’ll be fine.”
“Nope!” And he hoisted Fitzroy by the waist, over his shoulder. Argo was deceptively strong, billowing sleeves covering toned, muscular arms. He wasn’t strong in the way Fitzroy was; from purposefully working out, and watching his diet. Argo was strong because of the life he’d lived; working hard on the boat he grew up on, the labors of life had rewarded him handsomely, and it surprised Fitzroy every time. He laughed as he was lifted into the air.
“Put me down! I at least need to close up!”
“No way, Rhodes can handle that. You’re comin’ with me.” He carried him out like that, and didn’t put him down until they were half-way to the dorms. The walk was filled with fond complaints, and more than one “I can’t believe you!” It was entertaining until it was exhausting, and eventually Argo put Fitzroy down. The night was frigid, their breath clouded in front of them, and frost crystals began to freeze onto Argo’s mustache. He looked ridiculous, and Fitzroy wanted to kiss him.
The warm light from the dormitory’s windows was a welcomed sight, as they walked with crunchy footsteps through the snow. Shivering, they entered the common room and went to hang their coats. A fire burned hot on the hearth, and as much as they both wanted to curl in front of it, Argo herded Fitzroy to their room. The window was left open from the warmer day before, letting cold wind blow through the salty-sweet air. Argo went to shut it, and even without the sound of the rushing cars to put him to sleep, Fitzroy didn’t complain. He was too cold and too tired to care right now. Any person to bet money on him sleeping on his feet if not coerced to a bed, would get some good winnings. But Argo steered him to his bunk, and he crashed down with his day clothes still on.
“Not even gonna get changed?”
“Mmmm-mmmh…” said Fitzroy, his smart mouth abandoning him. Sunken in seafoam coloured sheets, he realized this was Argo’s bed, not his. He lifted his head to peer at his roommate through long eyelashes. Argo was standing in front of him, kneeling so they were eye-level, and smirking at him as though he was something soft and endearing. He wanted to be looked at like that more often. He wanted Argo to look at him like that more often. Every day, every week, every year. For the rest of his life.
“C’mon,” Argo said, “Up ya’ get.” Those strong hands were on his shoulders again, and he followed them into a sitting position. Fitzroy blinked at him, smiling like an absolute dope, and sighed as he let Argo lift his arms to take off his shirt. Was he being malleable on purpose, letting himself be touched? Was he playing at being more tired than he was, just so Argo would take care of him? He’d never tell. All that mattered in this moment was that Argo was gently unbuttoning his undershirt, with smooth hands that brushed cooly against his chest. If he weren’t so exhausted, Fitzroy would be as red hot as the fire downstairs. Not all of the sleepiness was an act.
Argo got him dressed in a loose cotton shirt, and some too-big sweatpants. These clothes were not his, baring the scent of salt and citrus, rather than grassy henna and jasmine. Argo was adorning him with his own clothes; bigger, warmer, and safer than the things he had in his closet. They were quiet, listening together to the watery sounds of Argo’s noise machine, and the muted wind blowing outside Fitzroy’s closed window. Once he was dressed, Argo’s hands laid him back down, not yet covering him with a blanket. Through half-closed eyes, Fitzroy watched him get changed, wearing similar clothes to the ones he’d been put in. He watched Argo’s muscular back, that of a swimmer, flex as it worked itself into a sleepshirt. Soon, he came back to bed, lying down next to him and pulling the comforter over them both.
Drifting off to the sound of breathing, and a soothing presence at his back, Fitzroy fell into a sleep more restful than the couple of hours he’d gotten that week combined. He didn’t care if Dakota yelled at him in the morning. Getting to sleep here, with Argo just within reach, surrounded by the smell of sea water and the sound of the ocean, and waking up wrapped in a warm embrace, was worth more than any paycheck.